


Hello, welcome home

by Elisexyz



Series: 25 days of Swanfire fic-mas [6]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Drinking & Talking, F/M, First Meetings, Melancholy, Minor Character Death, Pre-Relationship, Strained Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 21:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16940682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: Soon enough, they are tilting their glasses together in what’s probably the saddest Christmas toast in history: two strangers sitting on the floor in a soon-to-be-closed shop, one with a dead dad and the other with a dead— whatever Gold was to her. Friend is probably an exaggeration, he’d snort at her presumption.





	Hello, welcome home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Scrooge" prompt in the [ "25 days of fic-mas" challenge on Tumblr](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/tagged/25-days-of-fic-mas/chrono). Sorry, this isn't very shippy. ~~And it isn't what I had in mind in the beginning, _at all_.~~

“We’re closed,” she announces, a note of annoyance in her voice, when the doorbell alerts her that someone is coming in.

“Uh, yeah, I know,” a guy says, hesitantly. He keeps looking around like he’s expecting the place to swallow him whole any second. It probably doesn’t look too inviting, with the boxes lying around and the shelves half empty. “I’m Neal,” he adds. He pauses for a second, a slight grimace on his face. “Baelfire,” he corrects, and the weird name immediately clicks in Emma’s head. “The—”

“Next of kin,” she completes. “Gold’s son.”

He looks pretty much nothing like she expected: Emma has worked for Gold for almost three years, so she _can_ spot some similarities, like the cut of their eyes, but for the most part the guy looks nothing like his father. He carries himself in a completely different way, his hair is a curly _mess_ , and he doesn’t even dress anything like him – she’s actually pretty sure that if Gold could see that worn out hoodie he’d have a fit.

“Yeah,” he says, shifting uncomfortably as he takes another look around. Emma knew of his existence, but she hadn’t been expecting him: Gold’s lawyer said that they’d contact the ‘next of kin’ to have them handle the house and the shop however they preferred, and that turned out to be the son, but since he lives in New York and he said that he’d sell the shop and the house, she didn’t think he’d stop by.

“Well,” she says, clicking her tongue. “I’m Emma. And this is the shop. I wasn’t expecting you to come and see it.”

A part of her doesn’t really want to like him: she was likely the only person that Gold sort of got along with, mostly because they were two very lonely people with pretty much nothing but work in their lives. They usually spent Christmas together, at work: he had this very Scrooge-like notion that it’s stupid as hell to close shop for a stupid, commercial holiday, that it’s a waste of money and valuable time, and she rolled with it because working was a hell of a lot better than moping at home. They talked, sometimes, so she knew that he had an estranged son that he missed a lot and that walked out of his life because Gold ‘drove him away’. How, he never said.

She feels like she should be pissed at this Neal for not even being close enough to his father to be notified of his death in time for his funeral – she would give _anything_ to have her parents, and this guy just walks out on his dad? –, but, honestly?

He looks pretty lost and tired, she’s currently unemployed because her boss just died, and said boss was pretty much the only sort-of-close relationship that she entertained, it’s almost damn _Christmas_ again and it’s looking even greyer than the previous years – if possible –, and she just wants to bury herself in her bed for a month or so. She’s _exhausted_ , and she isn’t about to waste any energy being pissed at someone that she doesn’t even know.

Especially when that someone makes it difficult by looking like a damn lost puppy.

“Yeah, I know, I just— I was curious, I guess,” he says, his eyes darting around once again.

“You can snoop through the boxes if you want,” she offers. “It’s your stuff now, so.”

He’ll probably just sell it all on eBay, but if he wants to take a look before doing so…

He hesitates, and she wonders how much from a scale of one to ten he wants to bolt out of the door right now.

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” he mumbles, taking a few hesitant steps towards the closest box on his left and picking up an _ancient_ clock. It makes an infernal noise, Gold was always hoping that someone would just buy the damn thing already. She wisely decided to remove the batteries before putting it away.

“You knew him well?” Neal suddenly asks, turning towards her.

She shifts uncomfortably on her feet, deciding to go back to putting things in boxes just to keep her hands occupied.

“I guess,” she says, slowly. “I mean, he tolerated me, which is more than I can say about everyone else around here—” She feels a slight smile twisting her lips, because his salty commentary on half the people in the neighbourhood sometimes was the highlight of her day. “—and I mean, we talked. He—” She hesitates. “He told me about you.”

Neal seems pretty surprised at that. “He did?”

Well, too late to back down now. And she supposes that she sort of owes it to Gold to make sure that _someone_ says it, since he clearly didn’t.

“Yeah,” she says, slowly. “I think you should know that he missed you, a lot. And that—that whatever he did, he was sorry and he regretted it.”

Neal’s jaw tightens and he gives a brief nod, before abruptly turning back towards the box. She’s pretty sure his eyes got suspiciously glassy, so she makes sure to focus on what she’s doing instead of on him. She probably pried enough for the day already.

“Great, that’s— great, thanks,” he mumbles, probably a bit ironically. “I think I’ll go,” he adds, then, quickly, and Emma’s eyes snap up automatically. “I—I’ve got stuff to take care of,” he explains, pretty lamely if you ask her, as he backs away towards the door. “Pleasure to meet you, Emma.”

“You too,” she barely has the time to answer before he’s out of the door. After the ring of the door dies out, Emma is left standing alone with a defeating silence pressing against her ears.

 

 

It’s probably stupid, but she’d much rather spend Christmas day in the shop even though she isn’t supposed to be working there anymore, than at home trying to find a movie that doesn’t have a damn Christmas theme.

She walks to the now closed and soon to be sold shop carrying a bottle of cheap Scotch, because she’s probably going to need it, and her copy of the keys, which she’ll soon have to give to Gold’s lawyer, actually, so that he can give them to Neal.

Considering that the guy didn’t show his face back at the shop after that first encounter, he was the last person she was expecting to find there. Instead, when she gets in she finds that the light is already on and Neal is sitting on the floor, with a few items from the back of the shop scattered around him.

“Oh, hey,” he says, surprised.

“Hey,” she replies, unsure if she should apologize for the intrusion and go away or not. Honestly, this place feels much more like hers than his, and she wouldn’t mind the company either, if he’s willing to have her. “I didn’t think I’d find you here.”

He shrugs, his eyes dropping on the old ball in his hands. “I was just snooping around,” he offers, with a quick smile of courtesy. “How about you, why are you here?”

She sighs, holding up the plastic bag with the Scotch. “Thought I’d have a drink. I’m usually working this time of year, so—” She trials off. “I don’t mind sharing,” she adds, and she isn’t going to make the request any more explicit than that.

He offers what looks like a genuine smile. “Sure, a drink sounds good,” he says, lightly. “Should I get up?”

“Nah, the floor is fine,” she assures, taking off her coat before joining him. “I’m pretty sure there are glasses in that box over there.” She points behind him, and Neal promptly turns around to follow her finger.

Soon enough, they are tilting their glasses together in what’s probably the saddest Christmas toast in history: two strangers sitting on the floor in a soon-to-be-closed shop, one with a dead dad and the other with a dead— whatever Gold was to her. Friend is probably an exaggeration, he’d snort at her presumption.

She can almost hear him: _It’d be very impractical of me to entertain close interpersonal relationships with my employees, Miss Swan_.

She needs another glass.

“So, he made you work on Christmas?” Neal asks, raising his eyebrows and sounding half-way between amused and horrified.

She snorts. “It’s not what you think,” she feels the need to clarify. “He didn’t _make_ me, it was— I mean, I didn’t mind. Neither of us had anything better to do, so we kept each other company here. It’s not like there were usually clients on Christmas anyway, so it was mostly polishing and sitting around.”

“Uhm,” he mumbles, still tormenting that poor ball with one hand. “It’s—it’s good he had someone, I guess.”

There’d be room to argue there, because the guy’s life was pretty sad if you ask her – much like her own, actually –, he wasn’t exactly swimming in _friends_ — then again, it’d probably be unnecessarily cruel to rub it in his son’s face like that. Whatever bad blood there was between them, he doesn’t look too happy now. Or like he doesn’t give a shit, considering that he’s moping in the shop instead of celebrating.

“Didn’t you have anything better to do tonight?” she ends up asking. “I thought you’d be back home already. Holidays, celebrations and stuff.”

He shrugs. “Not really. Got a few friends, but it’s not like I have someone waiting at home, so. I just, uh, I guess I wanted to take another look around.” He pauses, and Emma’s eyes fall on the ball once again. He notices. “This was mine,” he comments, with a smile. She thinks there’s a note of pride in his voice. “When I was a kid I played with it all the time. I had no idea he’d kept it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the man throw away _anything_ ,” she snorts, rolling her eyes. “Even when stuff broke, he’d try to fix it, and if he couldn’t he took it home. I bet it’s all still there.”

“Oh, I can confirm,” he replies, scoffing. “The amount of useless junk in that house, I swear— I don’t even know where to start, honestly. I’ll be here for a month at least, trying to see if there’s anything I wanna keep.”

“I can help,” she says, impulsively. He seems surprised, and she’s already regretting it. “I mean,” she’s quick to try and amend. “I obviously got no business being in there, but—”

He holds up his hand, waving her off. “I think you’ve got more business being there than I do,” he says, a note of bitterness in his voice. “I haven’t seen him since I was eighteen, and—and honestly, shit’s complicated. Of course you can help, and anything you want— just take it, alright?”

She nods, taking another generous sip because she doesn’t trust herself to talk with that lump in her throat. The holidays always have a way to tie her stomach up in knots, but tonight she’s feeling particularly messed up.

She is _not_ about to cry all over this perfect stranger though.

“Can I ask— how he was?” Neal adds then, hesitantly. “I mean— what he was like? To work with, and— everything?”

She snorts, filling their glasses once again, an affectionate grin on her face. “Honestly, he was a real piece of work…”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


End file.
